This morning the rock by the path that leads out of the trees is sheltered from the breeze and, with its smooth, slightly hollowed surface, it's an inviting place to sit for a while to enjoy the sunshine.

Relaxing in the warmth with face upturned and eyes closed I immediately become more aware of the sounds about me. Insect activity provides a background drone, the constant soft hum interspersed now and then with higher-pitched whinings and louder buzzings as individuals explore the plants and flowers closer to where I am sitting.

Beyond the sound of the insects there are the noises of birds too; the faint mewing of a buzzard somewhere high above, the repeated tac-tac of a wren, a willow warbler momentarily reprising its spring song.

But it's the dry rattling vibration of wings close by that causes me to start and my eyes to fly open – just in time to catch sight of the dragonfly as it darts past. It's a common hawker, making its way along the tallest of the pathside vegetation following the line of the damp ditch in a series of dashes and hovering pauses, with bright blue markings and glittering wings reflecting tiny shards of brilliant sunshine.

Now with open eyes, I become aware of the silent flyers too. Over a few minutes, a succession of green-veined white butterflies fly jauntily past. A single meadow brown flutters for a short distance above the shorter grass and then lands on the path at my feet and comes to rest with wings closed.

And just as the birds played a part in the sounds of the morning, so they have their place in this quiet too. Yet it's not the half-expected high-soaring eagle that appears when I at last look up, but a young hen harrier drifting down on soundless wings from the moorland, above to glide low over the young trees before disappearing from view.